


The End of the Line

by jammybadger



Category: Grim Fandango
Genre: request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 19:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17028861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jammybadger/pseuds/jammybadger
Summary: Request for babycharmander. Glottis meets another driver.





	The End of the Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BabyCharmander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyCharmander/gifts).



The morning sleet of Puerto Zapato barely lived up to its memory, nowadays. The crystalline shards, falling in erratic bursts, had resolved almost entirely to a dewey slush overnight, made weaker still by the consistent rumble of snowmobiles on their never-ending crawl toward the 9th Underworld. Small settlements dotted the supply route, tiny pine dwellings that smelt of seal skin and tasted of salt. And yet, as the distant howl of a train whistle blew in across the briny air from somewhere far over the ice floes, the huddled residents of the villages would poke their heads from shuttered glass, seemingly forgetting their grim existence, just for a little while.

Fragma was not attuned to these more luxury services. The Number 9 was a mystery to most demons. Of course, once upon a time she may have had a chance, being born into a world of steam and pipes and well-oiled pistons. But, not all engineer spirits got lucky. Much like just about everyone else in this bitter, bitter world.

She shuffled on the worn leather seat of the snowmobile, seeking a more comfortable spot where her spines wouldn’t make such a clatter. It was bad enough blocking out the muffled yells of her passengers, as they grew ever-restless with their cramped, dark journey. Four years, she thought, was hardly a burden. She’d been here long enough to lose count.

Not far to the refueling station, now. She could see its snowbeaten iron panels already, and you could smell that fuel a mile off. All lead and oil, syrupy and dark. She could breathe that in all day. Which was fortunate, seeing as she usually ended up doing just that.

The snowmobile ground to a halt, and Fragma sat back as four small figures emerged from the station. They were less than half her height, clad in strange blue uniforms much like the one she once wore, all orange fur, wet noses and wide eyes. They spoke in a chorus of shaking, high-pitched groans.

‘Another demon from the outer world entrusted with the drivership of a vehicle. Truly a marvelous day.’

‘Yes, a demon of your size and power is hard to come by in these times.’

‘We have not seen one like you for…’

They paused, and replied unanimously.

‘Mooooooonths.’

Fragma just groaned, and wrinkled her snout. She wondered why they even trusted these guys on their own. Leaving them to their duties, she slumped off in the direction of the nearest tavern.

She was surprised to find it a lively atmosphere, spirits somewhat lifted by the steady melody emanating from the corner of the saloon. In front of an old wooden piano, surrounded by patrons and barely contained on a tiny stool, sat a large, orange driver demon, rakishly bellowing along with the music.

She allowed herself to drum her claws on the edge of a tankard before launching her entire muzzle inside, slurping up the bitter beverage inside with gusto. She barely even registered the tapping on her brawny shoulder until she came up for air.

‘Excuse me, miss? I couldn’t help but notice your ride.’

The pianist had shuffled over to her side, and was gesturing out the window. Wiping beer from her maw with a burly arm, Fragma cast her eyes over to the solitary snowmobile, still crawling with those smaller demons. She nodded slowly.

‘It’s an eight stroke. Got a lot of cylinders.’

The orange demon whistled.

‘Turbo?’

‘You know it.’

‘Top speed?’

‘More than enough.’

‘How many passengers?’

Fragma grinned wolfishly.

‘Depends on the casket.’

The pianist issued a gruff, howling laugh, and slapped her on the back, before holding out a furry paw.

‘Glottis.’

‘Fragma.’

The afternoon passed without event. She was ahead of schedule on her delivery, and another hour or so couldn’t hurt when you’ve been in a box for four years. Fragma usually kept to herself – her reptilian form and dark spines hardly invited company – but she sat, and listened to Glottis ramblings long into the night.

‘It’s nice that you’re delivering souls, Fragma. Man, what I would give to get in that saddle, really test out those axels, just grind out some ice, you know?’

‘It passes the time, feeds the soul, and keeps the boss happy, what else can I say?’

Glottis chuckled to himself, and Fragma sucked the foam from the top of her glass.

‘Ah, a boss. The days when you had things to do, orders to follow. No adventure in that, man.’

‘I take it you don’t have a good history with management.’

‘Ha! No sir!’

He drained his beer, and smacked his lips thoughtfully.

‘Although, my last boss wasn’t too bad.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I think he was more of a uh, friend, really. We got fired, travelled for a bit in a sick ride, got wrapped up in some weird stuff in El Marrow, and that’s how I got here.’

‘Then what happened?’

The distant whistle of the Number 9 echoed across the frozen landscape, and Glottis’ ears drooped as he swirled his beer.

‘Ah.’

Fragma threw her head back, gulped down the rest of her beer and patted his shoulder.

‘They die, they pass through, and then they move on, compadre. It’s the way it’s always been. Human souls, they just can’t take the wait. Always rushing.’

Glottis sighed.

‘Ma-Mr Calavera was different. He was waiting for someone. Waited for four years. I waited with him, we had some good times but…’

‘He still left?’

‘He moved on.’

Fragma stretched, rattling her spines a little.

‘Are you happy, Glottis?’

‘Well, yeah, I got these new friends and a better job and I still have my ride, but-‘  
‘Then I think Mr Calavera would be happy with you.’

His ears stood on end.

‘You think so?’

Fragma smiled, and drew herself up from the wooden stool.

‘I think so. Adios, Glottis.’

The seat was almost frozen solid with snowflakes, and crackled as she sat back and kicked the engine into gear. Flicking the lights on, she allowed herself a glimpse at the huge furry demon pianist as he scrambled into the driver seat of a huge hearse, decorated with flames and ostentatious exhaust pipes. Her eyes caught on the empty passenger seat dominating the roof of the vehicle, and she paused, hesitantly easing off the brake, before trundling off into the night once more.

She followed her headlights long into the darkness, her own passengers fast asleep for the last leg of the journey.

Far behind her, in that frozen settlement, four tiny demons clambered up the chrome exhausts to curl up in a lonely chair. Glottis didn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send me more prompts! I had a lot of fun writing this.


End file.
